A Tale from the Tower
by Hilarious-Mayhem
Summary: Story of a rather unobserved character from CT3, Annabel Burroughs, the daughter of Lord Burroughs. Haven't seen any other stories about her on fanfic, really interesting if I do say so myself. CH 15 coming up.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One- The Caged Princess

"Annabel!" Natalya Burroughs said from the doorway. Looking at the solemn eight year old girl that was her daughter, currently doing her studies, this particular woman was the happiest she had been in months. The girl, Annabel Burroughs, looked up with mild surprise from her spot in a rust colored book, her vivid blue eyes shining with curiosity and cautiousness. Her mother tended to rarely get excited over anything in particular, and to see her in such a state of excitement surprised Annabel.

Natalya's normally dark and serious eyes sparkled with an inner light, and her face seemed extremely healthy and bright compared to the usual pale ivory of her complexion, her lips were pursed as if she wished to spill out a secret, but was trying to coax Annabel into inquiring of the nature of this particular pleasure. She apparently disappointed her mother's expectations, because with a little huff of indignation, her mother began to speak.

"Annabel, my sweet angel, I have received a letter from your father. He says he is to come home from the battlefield soon! And will be home for a while longer than last time." Her mother burst out with an almost worshiping smile on her lovely face. This caused Annabel to frown; it was not a secret to the Burroughs' household that her mother adored her father, Darcy Burroughs, a man twice her age.

He had proposed to her two years previous to Annabel's birth. As a green girl at only the age of eighteen, her mother fancied herself to read romance and other racy novels, so it was not a surprise that she had accepted the rather dashing Lord Burroughs declaration of love and promise of a title and riches. However, her mother's fairy tale world of love and romance had popped like a bubble when three years after their marriage ceremony, Lord Burroughs had announced HIS fancy of going out to war. It seemed that her dear father loved to indulge in the rush that comes only from battle and the promise of an appraisal in his already high status.

"Isn't it terrific Annabel? Are you not excited? Now we can finally be able to be together as a family should be." Her mother said in a self-satisfied voice, only causing Annabel's worry to increase. Natalya reached her daughter's side and ran her hands over Annabel's long glossy brown hair.

"Mother, please don't get your hopes up, you know that his actions are unpredictable. He could be here one day, and be gone the next without a word." Annabel said to her mother, looked into the once soft and dreamy eyes and watched them turn into a dull brown. She felt a dull ache settle in her empty chest.

"I know, my dear, perhaps you are right." Her mother said, the excitement visibly draining out of her, her face becoming that same pale white.

:"Mother, that was churlish of me, I'm sorry. I am right though, his actions are unpredictable, he might even stay for good this time!" Annabel said, trying to feign excitement, her mother seemed to perk up at this.

"Yes. Yes, he just might. He also wrote in the letter that he had something special for you my little one." Her mother said with a sly grin, touching the tip of Annabel's nose with one pale finger.

"Another present, is it?" Annabel said with mild curiosity, shifting some of her schoolwork around and straightening up her desk, trying not to show her displeasure at the thought of another fancy gift that girls like her, also referred to as tomboys, would have no use of. The last time her father had come home, it had been a china doll…she still remembered the angry and disappointed look on her fathers face when she had come back from playing with it's delicate glass head broken into tiny pieces. Her kind of play was a more boyish type, rougher than most girls who simply left their dolls on a shelf and brushed its hair once in a while.

"He didn't exactly specify what it was to be, but no doubt you'll be the envy of every girl in this area." Her mother said with a good-natured grin, folding her hands on her full skirt, and in the process making Annabel grimace as the words hung in the air.

"I'm sure, mother, but I suppose he acquired a gift for you also?" Annabel asked, trying to distract her mother from talk of the other children of this area. Lately, Annabel had begun to become uncomfortable around the other children, whom either treated her like queen because her father controlled their families land, or they were flat out rude, calling her crude names and teasing her. Her mother went on though, not seeming to notice her discomfort of that particular subject.

"Well, maybe if he felt the need to. It would probably be like the other lovely dress he brought back from Italy or perhaps some beautiful jewels!" Her mother said with excitement flaring in her beautiful eyes, her hands clasping softly underneath her narrow chin. She seemed to drift away to her own world when given the opportunity. Annabel's mother was a dreamer, something that was very much inappropriate for a lady of her caliber, but in its own way, her tendency to drift off was charming…at least to Annabel.

Her face shown like a little girls at the thought of receiving a gift from her husband, her cheeks pinked to a nice healthy shade, and her happiness seemed to light up the entire room. Annabel aspired to be like this, to be the one who everyone looked at if they walked into a room. She wanted to be the light that shown through every shadow of darkness in this tower. But for now, it was her beautiful mother. Although sometimes it seemed like Annabel, the eight year old, was more mature than a twenty-eight year old woman. And yet, maturity had its costs, said a tiny voice in the back of Annabel's head. And she sighed with envy, wishing she could drift away like her mother.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- Always Better In Pairs Of Two

In honor of Annabel's father returning from the battlefield victorious, there was a huge celebration planned. All of the townspeople whose land he basically owned were invited to a great dinner, all of the people anxious to see their lord. Annabel dressed in a plain white dress that day, with little blue stones sewed around the round neckline.

Her mother had complemented her and began her own dressing, in a very provocative gown of a brazen red, with a blue sash tied around her narrow waist, and Annabel thought her mother had never looked more beautiful in her entire life.

The excitement was almost contagious around the Burroughs manor; everyone seemed to be in a flush of action. Waiters bring beautifully made dishes around to the long expanse of the dining room table, children running playfully up and down the long stairs that led to the roof, and people chatting excitedly as they sipped on a drink or stood in the main corridor of the house.

However, Annabel's chest tightened with worry at the thought of seeing her father again. It had been at least nine months since the last time she had encountered him. She wondered if had sustained any wounds during battle, and worried about other things. Her mother seemed oblivious to her unhappiness, and became the belle of the ball, entertaining guests and laughing with an almost catchable happiness.

She kept the room alive in Annabel's point of view.

Annabel, however, was made extremely nervous by this huge crowd of chatting people, and slipped out the back door to go to a tree she usually played under.

"Hello, sister dear." A voice said from the direction of the garden doorway, startling Annabel out of her thoughts. She looked towards the door, afraid someone had caught her hiding from the party guests, and saw flash of light brown hair behind a white pillar on her left, and knew that it was, of course, William. She sighed with aggravation.

Her brother William was older than her by three years, and at the age of eleven, he was a complete and total brat. He pestered and bothered Annabel usually until she either left the room, or began to cry.

William seemed to like to make her cry, like it was some sort of sport. He was…an unusually cruel boy, to Annabel at least, but to her mother and father he was a complete angel. He was considered a prized possession because he was the only male child to take on the Burroughs' legacy. They had simply had Annabel to give William a decent playmate, and had been granted a beautiful and intelligent daughter.

"Well, sister, hiding behind here for any particular reason?" He said with an evil smirk, looking at Annabel.

"No! Leave me alone, William." She said in a guarded town, looking gravely at her brother.

"Shut up you smart-mouthed little bitch." He said, scowling at her. William seemed to contemplate what to say for a minute, and then smugly smiled. "Is the princess all prettied up for daddy to come home? You know, even with all that junk on, you still look horrid." He said in what almost appeared to be glee.

"Stop being so ugly, William. Just lay off for one day, fathers back, can't we wait until another day to argue?" Annabel said with a slightly sour voice. William smiled at her sweetly, and for a moment she thought he was going to agree with her. But, one moment she found herself staring at his smiling face, and the next she found herself on her back in a puddle of mud.

"Oh dear, Annie, you've soiled up your pretty white dress…" He said with mock surprise, leaving Annabel with a gaping mouth that closed with an audible snap. As the shock wore off, Annabel felt a large rock poking at her arm, and rose up from the puddle.

Her dress was a complete disaster; of course, she doubted one hundred washings would rid the stains of dirt and grass. A small line of blood dribbled down her elbow, where the rock had cut into her delicate skin, and her shoulders were in pain where her brother had shoved. But, the most awful thing to Annabel was the small tears that welled unbidden to her eyes.

"ANNABEL!" She heard a female voice say from the doorway. Natalya stood there, with her hands on her hips, a look of immense frustration on her face. Her father stood beside her, his eyes wide and slightly surprised at Annabel's appearance.

And yet, even more embarrassing, everyone had followed Lord Burroughs as he went outside. All of the children were giggling, and the parents were whispering to each other, and keeping their eyes averted. Her brother William stood beside her mother with a look of satisfaction written on his face, as if he were the cat that had gotten into the cream. Annabel began to visibly sob, her tears leaving little streaks of dirt down her face.

But then, something very strange happened. From the corner of her eye, Annabel saw something move, and then heard a splash. She turned around towards the puddle, confused and still sobbing, and was utterly stupefied on the spot.

There, playing as if they didn't have a care in the world, were two children about a year or so older than herself. It was a girl and a boy with identical smiles on their faces, and black hair. They both smiled at her as if they had been friends for a very long time, and both had mud dripping messily down their faces. Annabel sniffed, and couldn't help but to smile back at them. The girl spoke first.

"Hey! I'm Jemima, and this is my brother, Ralph." She said in a high voice, with an excited gleam in her eyes. Annabel jumped nervously as she felt a warm hand rest on her shoulder, and looked up to see her father staring at the two silly children with amusement.

"Annabel, these are your presents."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Sickness

The next few days after the welcoming party were for the most part surprisingly uneventful, almost to the point of being dull. Despite the somewhat surprising and enthusiastic arrival of the twins, they were unusually rude and unsociable towards anyone who was not of the Burroughs' family, Annabel learned this over the few days that they had been in her home. She was rarely able to see them with her hectic schedule, but her mother described them to be playful and troublesome tricksters in her experiences with them. However, they tended to disappear quite often.

This saddened Annabel, because she had hoped to acquire some playmates her own age, being as she was eight and the twins were nine years old. But it seemed as though these two children were almost ghosts, surreal somehow. And to make matters even worst, William had been in a particularly nasty mood of a late, ever since that disastrous party, glaring at her hatefully if their schedules crossed or she walked by him in the hall.

Annabel knew not the reason her brother held such a profound hate of her, it had simply been always this way with William. As far back as she could remember, he had been a dark figure in her life. It was a curious thing, because with everyone besides herself, he seemed to be nothing but cordial and polite.

Although he did seem to dislike Ralph and Jemima, he acted very nice towards them verbally, although the occasional glare found it's way to them. They seemed to very well know that he disliked them; they always smiled mischievously at each other when they received any of his glares.

In some ways, Annabel was jealous of them. They had such a close relationship, seeing as how they were born together, and their relationship was born of love. While, on the other hand, hers and William's was born of a profound dislike. And although she was slightly envious, she found herself beginning to care for them.

Three days after the party, Natalya decided she fancied going on a shopping trip into the city to take Jemima to acquire proper clothes, she wanted Annabel to come along with them to keep Jemima some company. It was something that Annabel didn't really mind that much doing, she secretly wanted to get to know Jemima some more.

Jemima did fuss a bit herself, she didn't seem to like being away from her brother, but Natalya put up with no argument on the subject of her wardrobe. Up until Jemima and Ralph had arrived at the Burroughs' manor, she had been wearing some sort of tattered brown child's dress that had barely fit her.

The trip was sluggishly slow, of course. Although Jemima seemed to get more exceptionally excited as time passed. She bounced on her seat excitedly as they came closer to the town; she apparently had gotten over her discomfort more and more as Natalya told her of the many pretty dresses that they would buy.

The twins, before they had come to the manor, had lived with an uncle who had no use for children, on a military camp. Their uncle had not been able to properly care for them, so Lord Burroughs had taken it upon himself to perform a good deed and take the misguided children in. It seemed to be an utterly foreign idea to Jemima to shop with other women, but she did seem quite keen to the now-occurring idea. Her usually cocky and mischievous smile radiated with genuine happiness, Annabel thought it made her face shine, made it look absolutely lovely.

"So…you've never really been around many women, have you?" Natalya asked Jemima with a mixture of pity and curiosity. She seemed to be taking a liking to Jemima as Annabel also.

"No." Jemima said in a sullen tone with a grimace, almost as if she were thinking they would respond negatively to her one-worded answer. Annabel's mother sat a pale hand on Jemima's head, a sad and wistful smile on her face. She seemed to have surprised Jemima, who long and dark unbound strands of hair flittered through her fingers like air.

"Perhaps we can also have something done with your hair, yes?" Natalya asked quietly, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts, drifting off again, her eyes staring distantly and unfocused on Jemima's head.

"Mrs. Burroughs? We've arrived Madam." said the coachman as he abruptly opened the carriage doors, startling Natalya out of her mysterious thoughts and making her jump nervously.

"Well, well come along girls'…we've a lot to do today, and not much time to accomplish it." She said as though she were out of breath, and gripped each of their hands tightly.

The first place they went was to get Jemima's hair fixed up. The place, a small barber shop at the edge of town, was abuzz with activity. The snipping of scissors in the air and the smell of shampoo is what composed this environment.

Jemima seemed completely enthralled when she saw her first pair of scissors…her eyes looked probably comparable to what a child with its nose pressed against the glass window of a candy shops would look like. Her eyes widened in what seemed to be filled with wonder as the barber began chipping off her long locks of hair. It was a curious thing, the way she stared at those scissors, but Annabel didn't think much of it at the time.

After they left the barber shop, they went to the dressmakers where Jemima had another one of her firsts; getting her measurements taken. When her measurement were finished, Natalya told the two girls to go outside and play for a bit, that she wanted to discuss the arrangements with the seamstress of the shop.

"I think I'm getting a bit hungry." Annabel stated, giggling when her stomach erupted into a series of audible growls. "Would you like something to eat?" she asked Jemima politely, pointing towards a vendor who was selling food.

"I don't have any money." Jemima moped, looking longingly at the food with her lips pursed as if annoyed. Annabel made a funny face at her, and Jemima looked…bewildered.

"Don't be silly. I'll pay." Annabel said in an almost scolding manner, pulling Jemima along with her towards the vendor.

The thing was that Annabel had been alone for so long, it was almost inconceivable for her to think in terms of spending casual time with another person her own age, but she was determined to be friends with Jemima, although the girl didn't seem to mind Annabel's enthusiasm too much at all.

Annabel watched in rampant curiosity as Jemima seemed to hesitate, the girl looked over at Annabel in interest also as she held the muffin in her pale hand. The look on Jemima's face was comical, Annabel laughed.

"Well, go on." She encouraged Jemima, taking a small bit of her own muffin. Jemima wrinkled her nose and sniffed the food.

"What the devil is this?" Jemima asked, finally cracking a smile over at Annabel.

"It is a muffin…it's quite good." Annabel said, pointedly munching on another mouthful, smiling a crumbly smile.

"Ummm…" Jemima hummed, swinging her eyes back to the food in her hands. She seemed to be deliberating on the best angle in which to take her very first bite. But, as fat would have it, before she could even get it to her mouth, it was suddenly on the ground.

"Hey!" Jemima cried with dismay as a boy a couple of years older than herself stood blocking the path of the girls, he had apparently knocked the muffin from Jemima's hands.

"Oops. Pardon me." The boy said, smiling wickedly, obviously not remorseful.

"What's the big deal?" Jemima growled towards the boy, her hands curling into tiny fists.

"Are you going to hit me?" The boy said in a incredulous and taunting way, smiling wider as a couple of other boys wandered over towards his side.

"Bug off and leave her alone." Annabel hissed, coming in between Jemima and the boy. She grabbed Jemima's arm, attempting to pull her away from the group. Jemima looked at her with mild surprise, but would not be budged.

She turned her dark eyes back to the rude boys and stepped around Annabel, closer to the boys in question, a vicious look entering her eyes. It scared Annabel.

The boy who had thrown the muffin out of Jemima's hand looked a bit startled himself. He threw his hands in between the distance from him to Jemima and shoved her. Jemima feel to the ground, cracking her nose painfully on the ground, and a sliver of dark red blood trailed from it.

"No!" Annabel cried, grabbing up a sharp stick from the ground, and hitting the boy square in the face. The boy cried out in pain, clutching his face where a huge gash had opened up, gushing blood.

Annabel began to cry when she saw the blood, dropping the stick. Jemima looked somewhat fascinated and astonished as she watched the scene unfold. The boy ran away crying, and the other boys followed him to ensure his safety.

"Annabel, Jemima? Why, what are you…ANNABEL!" Natalya shrieked as Annabel clutched at her chest in pain and her vision darkened. The last thing she heard was Jemima screaming.

xXxXxXxXx

"This just cannot be correct, I won't accept this!" Lord Burroughs moaned at the doctor who was presently in his young daughter's room.

"I'm afraid so, Lord Burroughs. Your daughter has quite an irregular heat beat, the excitement form her little confrontation must have somehow provoked a heart attack." The doctor explained in a rough German accent, pulling the stethoscope from his ears with a tired sigh.

"No. You fix her. You can, can't you?" Lord Burroughs said desperately, looking over at his sleeping daughters almost dead white angelic face.

"I'm afraid that would be impossible. If I am correct, and I am usually am, I doubt that Miss Annabel will live past her sixteenth birthday." The doctor said, wincing as he caught sight of Darcy Burroughs anguished expression.

"Eight years?! You must be joking; this joke is in extremely poor taste! Guards, have this man taking to the chamber." He roared, pulling away roughly as Natalya grabbed his arm.

"Please, darling, calm down!" she cried, wet paths from the tears trailing down her face. She clung to her husband, attempting to calm him, he would not be calmed.

"Damn you to hell woman! This is all…your….fault!" He choked out, pushing her to the cold floor. She began crying in earnest as the guards drug the terrified doctor out of the room, and prayed her daughter didn't wake up now.

"Fetch another doctor!" He snarled offhandedly, striding out the door to the torture chamber.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4—Encounter

Annabel awoke to complete darkness coming in from her large window, and had not even the vaguest idea of how she had come into bed. There was a candle on her dresser, and the flame was flickering as if it were threatening to go out.

She bit her lower lip and looked around at the bedroom that was encased in darkness besides the small ray of light that the candle provided, and shivered with the first flicker of fear. She had always been afraid of the dark in her much younger years, making her mother stay with her until she finally fell asleep. It appeared that some of her fear hadn't dissipated

As quietly as she possibly could manage, Annabel tiptoed out of bed and opened her bedroom door, flinching when it creaked and breathing a sigh of relief when she heard nothing stir to life. Annabel slipped out into the pitch black hallway, shivering as she made her way to the kitchen, where the promise of the warm and comforting light of the fireplace awaited her. She knew the flame would still be burning in the hearth, the people from the kitchen had to get up whenever they were called, even at these wee hours of the morning, although anyone rarely required food this early.

It was a precaution to keep the fire going just in case one of these rare occasions occurred.

When Annabel opened the door that connected to the hallway leading to the library, she took her first look at the outside, and it was storming. The windows lit up with lightening, and great peals of thunder continuously went on from behind the brick walls.

"It is such terrible weather." She whispered to herself, swatting away at a stray spider web that had somehow managed to elude the maid's feather duster. When Annabel finally made her way to the kitchen, she found herself in complete and utter silence. Annabel reveled in this silence, this…peace.

She sat down in one of the chairs at the wooden kitchen table that was directly in front of the fire, and looked at the irons bars on the high window. Looking at those bars, Annabel felt almost trapped, and very much claustrophobic.

She was still very much sleepy, but for some reason she didn't want to go back to sleep, fearing the amount of time she had been in bed already since she had no previous recollection of even getting into bed. She laid her head down onto the cool wood of the table as her stomach rolled sickeningly and Annabel felt as if she were truly going to be dreadfully sick. And again, she wondered why she had no memory of getting into bed.

"Hum…are you going to be sick? You look like you are about to hurl." A slightly amused voice asked. And she realized its origins were from Jemima's twin brother, Ralph. He was perched on the table in a peculiar way, with his legs crossed, and his hands were propped lightly on his chin. His face was only inches away from her own face.

"Wah!" She squeaked in a very unladylike manner, so surprised that her chair upturned with her still in it, and she landed flat on her rear on the ground. Ralph snickered from his perch.

"What on earth are you doing here?" She gasped her voice slightly steadier. She picked herself off of the ground, brushed off her dress, and glared ruefully at him. He simply smiled at her in an innocent way, as if he had done nothing wrong, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes, almost as if he were taunting her.

"Well, obviously giving you a spook." He said, wiggling his fingers at her with a gleeful little snicker. He smiled wider at her.

"Obviously." Annabel agreed patiently, putting her chair back into its correct position, and sighing like a parent dealing with their out-of-control offspring. She looked at Ralph for a moment, finally realizing that this was the first time they had ever actually talked together. Over the past days that he had been there, she had seen neither hide nor hair of him, and when he was present, Jemima was the one who actually did most of the talking, but already she was seeing that Ralph was very easy to talk with.

He addressed her as if he already knew her, as if they had been friends for a very long time. Strange…

"Are you hungry, since we are obviously in the kitchen?" Annabel asked, offering to get him something to eat. Ralph's eyebrows raised and a faintly mocking smile appeared on his face.

"The princess offering to serve the peasant?" He mocked, and shook with another one of his strange laughs.

"Princess?" Annabel said with distaste, a bitterness filling her mouth.

"Princess Annabel! It absolutely fits." Ralph said, putting both his hands behind his head and laying down on the table in a very strange pose. Annabel laughed as he said this.

"I suppose it does fit, doesn't it?" Annabel commented, agreeing with him, and sitting back down in her chair.

"I'd have to say it does." Ralph said with a great yawn, looking at her through his dark eyelashes as he propped his head on his hand.

"Well, you've asked me already what I'm doing in here, so let's have your story Princess, why are you here?" Ralph pointed out, making Annabel flush with embarrassment. He would most certainly laugh at her fear of the dark.

"Not telling." She said with her eyes lowered, a smirk on her lips.

"Ah…" Ralph purred, his eyes dancing almost as if he already knew the answer to his question. "Well, I suppose I deserve that, after all, I didn't exactly tell you the complete truth anyway." He said, his ever-present smile in place.

"What do you mean?" Annabel asked, and her brow furrowed.

"Well, I saw you wandering along the hallway after I was woken up by an extremely irritating squeaking by the way, and I thought I might as well thank you and get it over with." He said carefully, his eyes lowered. "I thank you for trying to protect and befriend Jemima."

"What do you mean by protecting Jemima?" She asked, confused. What did he mean by protect…Jemima? She couldn't recall anything that could result in such a gallant declaration of thankfulness. Ralph rolled his eyes as if he were exasperated.

"My sister tells me everything. And she also told me about what happened on that little shopping trip, and I wanted to personally thank you, although I would still absolutely love to get a hold of that boy." He said slowly, pronouncing each syllable as if Annabel were slow.

She frowned, searching her brain for any recollection of this, and came up with nothing.

"I don't understand." She said, shaking her head apologetically.

"It doesn't matter, my thanks isn't really worth that much anyway." Ralph said in a dismissive way, waving his hand in the air as if brushing away a bothersome insect.

"I really don't remember." Annabel murmured, lowering her head and trying to think about what she last remembered, eating breakfast Saturday morning with her mother.

"Well, you have been up in that room for a couple of days. I thought you had croaked." Although Ralph's tone was very friendly and happy, his face was grave. "Don't die quite yet though, Jemima would be unhappy." He said solemnly, as if confessing one of his sister's secrets.

"You…care for your sister very much, correct?" Annabel asked with genuine curiosity.

"She is…my other half." He said in a wistful tone, swinging his legs back and forth, and then his gaze slid back to Annabel. "Don't you have a brother also? What's his name…William?" He asked, seemingly confused.

"Ah…of course…William." Annabel said quietly, closing her eyes tightly and then staring blankly into the fire blindly.

"I suppose it's time for me to go to bed." She said abruptly, rising up from her chair and grabbing a nearby candle. "Goodnight." She stated as she went out the door, nodding at Ralph.

"Sweet dreams, Annabel." He called after her, his voice floating down the hall after her, almost like a ghost's…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5—Into the Fire

The moment she opened her eyes again, her mother was all over her. Natalya continuously fussed with her and continuously kept asking how she felt, until Annabel thought that she may go completely insane.

And for the life of her, Annabel still could not remember why her mother would even be so worried about her.

"Darling, rest in bed today, you need some rest." Natalya said almost accusingly as Annabel attempted to get out of her bed.

"Mother, I want to get up. I cannot just laze around all day, why do you want me to stay in bed in the first place?" She asked sullenly, glaring at her mother.

"You mean…you don't remember?" Natalya asked in a strange, almost squeaky voice.

"What are you talking about? Did it have something to do with Jemima?" She asked, remembering Ralph's words from the previous night.

"No…of course not. Nothing happened." Natalya said, clearly lying, a small smile crossing her face as she reached over to fluff out Annabel's dark brown hair. "Jemima's perfectly fine, although I haven't seen her around very often."

"You haven't seen her?" Annabel asked, worrying a little.

"It's nothing to worry about, but come to think of it, Ralph's been the only one I've seen of the late." Her mother said with a frown.

"Oh, I see." Annabel murmured

"Do you?" Natalya asked as if she had somehow revealed too much.

"Mother…" Annabel began, trying to pick her words carefully. "What is the matter?"

Natalya froze up as she was arranging a vase of flowers that stood on Annabel's dresser, as if she were paralyzed.

She looked at Annabel with a curious expression on her face, almost grief.

"I love you so much Annabel." Natalya said, taking a large breath. "But you know…things may be a little strange for while. Just don't question it, your father isn't exactly himself at the moment either."

"Father, what's wrong with him?" She asked, still enormously confused.

"I don't know, Annie, but I really suggest against bothering him." Natalya said, turning her sad eyes away from Annabel.

"Is he going to leave soon?" Annabel asked.

"No." She said simply, slipping out of Annabel's door into the hallway. And Annabel had a feeling that he not leaving WAS the problem.

An hour after Natalya left, Annabel slipped to the floor and left her own room to go outside. Her bare feet made a crunching noise against the grass as she headed towards her tree; the one she had been by when William had pushed her into that dirty puddle.

The tree was blooming with blossoms, it was going to produce fruit in the summer, and a cool shade encased most of the area under the tree. No more wet spots dotted the ground, since there had been no rain of the late.

Annabel took a seat at the foot of a large root, reclining her head against the rough bark of the tree and watched the clouds as they lazily floated across the sky. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on her breathing.

"You seem to like this place a lot." A voice said abruptly to her right, and when she opened her eyes, Ralph was leaning against the tree trunk with a candy cane sticking from his mouth as he thoughtfully looked at the sky.

And for the second time, he startled Annabel, causing her to jump nervously.

"Yes…where is Jemima?" She asked, Ralph immediately began to grin widely.

"Jemima is such a vain little thing, doesn't want anyone to see her banged-up nose." He said with a fondness that showed his love for his sister.

"Oh, she hurt her nose?" Annabel asked, a little flicker of acknowledgement in the back of her mind. As if a memory were so close to the surface, right on the tip of her tongue, and she couldn't find it. In that time that she had looked down when asking this question, when she looked back up, Ralph was gone.

"What the…?" She said, looking around confused.

"He He…I'm invisible, princess." He chuckled, and she looked around for Ralph, bewildered He laughed very loudly then, and Annabel looked up to see him grinning like the madman he possibly was in the large tree.

"How on earth did you get up there so quick?" She asked, stomping her foot

"Magic, perhaps?" Ralph said, teasing her.

"You said Jemima hurt her nose, is she okay?" Annabel asked up at him as he began to climb even higher.

"She is quite fine, just a bit disgruntled about her appearance." He said, turning to flutter his eyes at her.

"I see." Annabel said, smiling toward Ralph, who was currently climbing like a monkey up the large tree.

"You care a lot what happens to us?" Ralph asked with what seemed to be a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.

He situated himself on a large branch, looking down at her with a somewhat mocking smile.

"I think that I do." Annabel said with an air of ease, getting up and brushing off the dirt from her hands.

"I have to go now, I'll talk to you later." She said, beginning to walk away.

"Most probably, but tell me, why do you always seem to walk away just when things start to get interesting?" Ralph asked with a wicked smile, swinging his legs back and forth slowly, like a cat swishing its tail.

Annabel walked quickly back to the house, feeling a vague sense of déjà vu.

.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6- Cloves

Chapter Six- Clovers

Natalya hadn't been lying about one thing for sure; her father wasn't himself. He was gone for long periods of time now, and the tiniest mistake could set him off. As his temper flared, the atmosphere of the castle heightened, almost as if his anger was covering them all in a blanket of animosity, smothering them.

His mood was less than inviting, and Annabel found herself spending more time with the twins. Their mood (unlike Lord Burroughs) was a flurry of activity and bubbly joy.

They laughed a lot, although Annabel couldn't exactly tell you WHY they laughed, but it was pleasant thing…to hear laughter. She didn't exactly hear it very much with her actual family, while, the twins, in contrast, gave it to her continuously. They were a fun pair.

One morning, while sitting across from Jemima eating breakfast (which was very rare, Annabel had never really had meal with her or Ralph), Annabel suddenly remember something she had been meaning to ask for a while.

"Jemima, could you tell me…when is your birthday?" She asked eagerly, looking towards Jemima expectantly.

The girl in question frowned.

"It is April…correct? Well, then I suppose it is this coming month." The pale girl commented airily with a shrug of one shoulder.

"Next month? Oh no! Why didn't you tell me before?" Annabel moaned, and Jemima had a frozen look of surprise on her face.

"I didn't think my birthday of was importance." Jemima said bitterly, stabbing at a pile of eggs that was on her place and almost viciously biting into them.

"It most certainly is…well….it is to me!" Annabel said to Jemima, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Really?" Jemima asked with what seemed to be interest, a curious expression crossing her face as she chewed thoughtfully. She seemed intriguiged with this particular thought.

"Haven't you EVER celebrated your birthday?" Annabel asked, staring at Jemima curiously.

"No, not really. It's just another day to Ralph and me." Jemima reflected that same expression still on her face.

A frown was on her lips, as if she didn't understand something.

Annabel decided then that the twins would have their first real birthday with her, and began to plan.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The day after her conversation with Jemima, Annabel begged her mother to let her go into town and told her of her own plans.

Natalya grudgingly accepted this, mumbling about how Annabel "shouldn't stress herself", which she didn't know what that was about, so simply ignored it.

It probably had something to do with her memory loss from not long ago, she had already figured out it had to be that, because she just couldn't remember that day when she had supposedly "protected Jemima", as Ralph had said.

She tried not to think of it too very much. It was an easy thing to do, considering she remembered nothing of the incident.

When Annabel went into town, she planned on buying the twins' gifts, which she eventually ended up finding in an antique shop on the other side of town (which was, ironically enough, owned by a Hamilton, one of her mother's distant twice removed cousins, Prudence Hamilton.)

Prudence was one of those kinds of women that her father hated. Flirtatious, scanty, and she actually owned her own business (the shop), which was absolutely appalling for women of her time. She had a somewhat ethereal appearance, gypsy-like, with whitish blond hair and a face that was free of any wrinkles or imperfections.

If she wasn't such a tough-headed woman, Prudence probably would have a husband and children by now, although she loved children. But, she was considered the "black sheep" of the Hamilton family and never married to her chosen suitor, abandoning him at the wedding alter, the only reason she was foolhardy, as Annabel's father put it, was because "Natalya's family hadn't raised her right, save the rod and spoil the child," he said.

But, Annabel found herself in admiration of her mother's pretty cousin. Apparently her mother loved her cousin also, because she allowed Annabel to usually come down to the shop when she had business in town that was going to take a long amount of tie and she brought Annabel with her.

When she walked into the shop, it was filled to the brim with the smell of some kind of incense, (she was a bit eccentric, although nobody accused her of being a witch,) and a wide assortment of things. From a coo-coo clock and pretty dresses, that Annabel couldn't bring herself to buy for Jemima, none of them seemed to fit her style (whatever her style was), and didn't seem to be a gift that Annabel would like to give her.

Twenty year old Prudence was standing at a large oak counter, wiping it off. She looked pretty in scant white dress with her shoulders bared, and a blue scarf tied to her head loosely. She hummed an inane tune as she wiped the counter.

"Hello, cousin." Annabel said excitedly as Prudence looked up and wiped her forehead. It was a warm day, and she was sweating dreadfully.

"Well, hello Miss Burroughs, what can I do for you today?" She asked in an accent that spoke of her Irish heritage, and made a small bow towards Annabel.

"Looking for some interesting presents…" Annabel said sheepishly, looking around abashed.

"I haven't had time to clean up, just dig through the junk, sweetie." Prudence said, smiling and waving her hand as if she were shooing at Annabel.

"You call your own merchandise "junk"? That is not very wise business advertisement!" Annabel comment with a grin and made her way around the shop.

"Call it antiques, then?" She paused, "Well, if you call a rose by any other name, it's still going to be just a smelly flower." Prudence said with her nose scrunched up as if she were amused.

"I suppose that is true enough." Annabel said, bending over to examine an item.

"This is beautiful." She whispered, picking it up and dusting the surface, even though there was not a speck of dust. It was a music box, the cover a creamy red-wood that seemed almost like chocolate. She picked up the lid, and a soothing melody rang out from it…a lullaby, and she felt that this was her present for Jemima.

"Good choice! That was my Great-Grandmother Lilith's." Prudence said, looking at Annabel with appreciation in her gaze.

"It's a family item?" Annabel asked curiously, wondering why Prudence would sell her precious family icons.

"When I left the family, I took my half of the possessions, which coincidentally included my cranky late Granny Lilith." She said smiling. "She was a strange old lady, and we always got along well enough, she was another outsider. She used to say that the rest of the family annoyed her with their inane chatter, and my comfortable silence. Almost all of what I sell here is from what she left to me." Prudence smiled at the music box.

"But…some are things I _borrowed _from the family." She said wickedly, her blue eyes fluttering innocently in contrast.

"You are so…" Annabel smiled at Prudence, who winked at her.

"That's a secret between you and me though, Miss Burroughs." She warned with a friendly voice.

"Deal…only if you quit calling me Miss Burroughs." Annabel said, smirking.

"But you are…the illustrious Annabel Burroughs, second to the lady of the manor, Mrs. Natalya Burroughs." She said in a mocking British accent, giving Annabel a mock bow.

"And you are…the scandalous black sheep of the renowned Hamilton family, second to nobody, Prudence Lindsey Hamilton." Annabel said back, in the same mocking accent.

"Fine…just don't say my full name again…god, I hate my mother." Prudence said with a groan, covering her eyes. Then a light seemed to come on in her head.

"Did you say you were looking for an interesting present?" She asked with excitement, her eyes lighting up.

"Uh…yes…didn't I say that?" She asked.

"Don't be smart." Prudence said primly and grabbed Annabel's hand a bit forcefully.

"I know something you might want." She said, leading Annabel towards a glass counter with an assortment of jewelry and pointed towards a necklace.

"There it is, Annabel." She said with an almost worshiping smile on her face, pointing towards a four-leaf clover necklace that sparkled with green jewels.

"Each clover represents one of the blessings; friendship, courage, hope, and love. It is…a particular family heirloom that I detest selling, but since you are a Hamilton, by blood at least, it belongs in your sight." She said with a sad smile.

"You're a Hamilton too though, why don't you keep it?" Annabel asked curiously, looking at the older woman with confusion.

"It doesn't belong with me." She said simply and opened the glass case to hand the beautiful necklace into Annabel's hands.

"It belongs near you." Finality singed her tone, and Annabel felt a strange power drift through her body as she stared at Ralph's gift. It was as if the necklace had some mysterious power…like something was entering her through the necklace. Without a second though, Annabel paid for the necklace and exited the store. The necklace tingling in her hands and the jewelry box tucked under her arm…


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six- Music in the Night

Chapter Seven- Shadow Girl

The twins' birthday crept up on Annabel like a masked thief; stealthy and with quiet deliberation. The closer it came to this particular date, the more anxious she became in anticipation for the reactions of the formally mentioned Ralph and Jemima. Would they be happy about this particular surprise?

Or perhaps they would absolutely hate it. She wasn't exactly sure of their opinions of a party in honor of them, but she would not be deterred from this.

Her mother and the kitchen crew knew of her plans, but she had given them specific instructions to keep the twins in the dark. Quite frequently, she had seen Ralph and Jemima outside or in the hallways, so the kitchen was a fairly safe place to make preparations, but not for certain because of their characteristic of floating from place to place like a tiny hummingbird.

They seemed to be the only ones whom were active at the moment however. The Burroughs manor had seemed to be in a state of hibernation for quite a long amount of time, since last month.

When Annabel did purchase a chance to see her mother, she was cool and reserved, while her father was quick tempered and short with her. Her father had been in her line of vision only six or seven occasions since he had come home (and not showing any signs of leaving anytime soon), and the servants seemed very jumpy and nervous, trying desperately to make sure everything was finished to perfection; done correctly.

Only Ralph, Jemima, and she seemed somewhat active in the face of the dead silence of the castle. But, the twins stuck with each other like glue a large portion of the time, while Annabel stayed alone in her room and went to the library occasionally.

On top of being nervous of the twins' upcoming birthday, Annabel became somewhat depressed. The gloomy and somewhat electrified atmosphere had taken its tole on her. She was tired most of the time, because of her new habit of going without sleep during the night, and bags formed dark rings around the girl's eyes.

Her mother's interestingly enough rare mood swing had caused her to fail to take notice of her daughter's weariness, and the fact that she was left alone.

Annabel had hid the twins' presents as well as she could in her own room, knowing for a fact that it would not be found because of their inclination to stay out of her living space, and, of course, their active play.

Although she couldn't bring herself to entirely put away the necklace, which seemed to glow welcomingly when her fingers touched its jeweled surface, the same strange power coursed from it to her. So, she kept it the drawer beside her bed, looking in on it when she felt at her worst.

Annabel was sitting at her desk doing her studies and stopping occasionally to stare out the window into the gloomy and sad gray clouds that broke out with the ever-so-often peals of thunder, when she heard a knock on her bedroom door.

And she was extremely surprised to see William-whom she hadn't noticed an absence of- entering her room, and ever more surprising, he didn't have his customary scowl on his face. Although he did look about as worse for wear as she herself did. When she looked at his face, when he walked through her door, it was as if a more sickly and tepid person had replaced her fiery and hateful brother.

The parlor of his skin was a ghostly white-as if it had never caught a glimpse of the sun before, and his eyes looked slightly more sunken in, almost skeleton-like, the dark bruise colored shadows under his eyes protested to a lack of sleep.

"What on earth…William." She said, looking at him as if he were utterly foreign to her. "Are you okay?"

William didn't respond to her question with his customary anger, only with a mild glance of what almost seemed to be dismissal.

"Mother requests your presence at dinner." He said dully, the words mechanical, and he was about to turn on his heels and leave, when he seemed to visibly change his mind, turning towards her with a queer expression on his ghostly face.

"Annabel." William whispers lightly, looking around nervously and turning back to her. "Do you…hear things at night?"

This surprised her greatly, seeing this small amount of visible fear on her brother's face, she wanted to soothe him.

"No, but I'm sure if I did, it would just be this old castle." She said uncertainly.

"The castle…right." William said in a cool voice, all previous fear vanishing.

"Do you hear things, William?" Annabel asked with curiosity, cocking her head towards her brother expectantly. He turned his back to her, and she glimpsed that same unnerving expression.

"Just probably the castle…like you said." He choked out, starting to walk away. "Be at dinner soon." He said as if it were an afterthought, and left her in silence.

It was a strange encounter, to say the very least, and for the very first time, she questioned the effect of the castle's heightened atmosphere on the mentality of her brother.

There really was no other logical explanation for William's sudden paranoia of the creaking and groaning of the castle, (although he hadn't specified a particular sound, she assumed it was this), because William had lived here his entire natural-born life, certainly longer than Annabel, and previously not a smidgen of protest on the condition of the place had passed his usually scowling and cynical lips, until…today, that is.

Annabel stared blankly at the door her brother had passed through only seconds previously, contemplating this strange phenomenon.

It was almost as if William were a different person, changing drastically from the hateful, yet full-of-life young boy he had been before father had arrived only two months ago, to a scared, almost mouse-like ghost of a person.

Although William's pranks and smart remarks had been directed towards Annabel herself, she found that she much preferred his crudeness to this…the only word to describe it would be "lifeless" creature that he seemed to have changed to overnight.

A frown on her face, Annabel turned away from the empty doorway to look at her book with a sudden surge of guilt. She had only thought of herself all of her life, not considering William's feelings; only thinking of herself in these strange times; her feelings, her doubts, and her loneliness.

Although William wasn't necessarily her favorite person, he was still her brother, and she loved him in her own crude fashion, just as she was sure that deep down, he loved her also.

She suspected his visible dislike of her was brought on by jealousy at the attention she received from her mother and father; and pretty much everyone else. Everyone in the entire south-east region of England knew that the Burroughs' had their "beautiful flower", Annabel, and yet, William went by…unnoticed by all.

Even the servants sometimes forgot of his existence, and they lived with him. She had learned of all this interesting information only a few days earlier, on one of the rare occasions she had talked with Natalya. She could remember the conversation between her mother and herself as clearly as she remembered the talking between her brother and herself only moments before.

"_Why doesn't William like me mother?" _She had asked Natalya, sitting with her legs drawn up against her chin, looking at Natalya with undisguised curiosity as her mother brushed her long hair out.

"_Doesn't like you? Well, you do have to understand sweetling that,"_ Her mother glanced at Annabel's face, _"William is probably jealous, really seemed so when he was but a babe, when you were born." _Natalya commented, stopping the brushing to fully face her daughter.

"_He…loves you in a way. But, William is different than you, he…" _Natalya stopped, shaking her head sadly. _"He is just different; leave it at that, my love."_

Annabel hadn't understood it at that moment in time, but now she though she might understand now. It was as if a light had gradually come on in her head, an understanding of…her brother? It was almost incomprehensible that she could understand even a fragment of the actions of her brother.

Everything was changing, and she wasn't sure if she liked these changed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight- Birthday

"Don't you dare open your eyes!" Annabel scolded the birthday boy and girl (AKA: Ralph and Jemima), pinching at Ralph's ear as he mockingly parted his fingers to peek.

"What ARE you doing?" Jemima asked sourly from beneath her slim fingers, sitting where Annabel directed her. The twins were completely clueless, and Annabel her to smile at how utterly clueless they were. Jemima wore a confused frown on her face, her dress shone like ruby in the dim candlelight. While Ralph, (who obviously was more rambunctious), was smiling widely, showing off his white teeth, and fiddling in his chair like a five year old who had been told he wouldn't leave his supper until he had ate all of his vegetables. It was hard not to laugh when you saw how the two looked together.

"Jemima does have a bit of a point, Annnie-Bell, what is this about?" Ralph asked in a playful tone, and Annabel could imagine his eyes twinkling in their usual mischievous manner.

"Oh…you'll see." Annabel said back, laughing.

"Vague woman. Is that a threat or a promise?" Ralph mumbled his smile still in place. Of course, Ralph always wore a smile as if it were a piece of clothing. Jemima was a bit more on the mellow side.

Annabel quickly lit a match and set it on each individual birthday candle, ten in total, and stepped back to admire the kitchen's handiwork. All in all, the cake was absolutely lovely. One side was a deep, dark color of blue, (Jemima's favorite color), while the other was a rich, garnish color of red, Ralph's side. It was plain otherwise; with a chocolate center and delicious icing (Annabel had…sampled some of the icing when the cooks had made it.) She felt that they would love it, although in her experiences, her thoughts were not always entirely correct. But she just…had a feeling…

At that moment, everyone took their places around the eating room and looked towards the twins, who looked extremely confused at the sounds around them, Jemima frowned, and Ralph smiled.

"Ok…open!" Annabel exclaimed, poking them each on the arm. The twins opened each of their dark, intense eyes and they each breathed a tiny breath of surprise. Their eyes were wide and somehow… innocent as they gazed at the cake in which the servants had worked on so perfectly.

"What is this?" Ralph asked, smile still in place. His eyes danced in Annabel's direction, only she and a couple of servants were in the room, and the room itself was decorated in a variation of Jemima and Ralph's favorite colors.

"Happy birthday." Annabel said, her arms raising up and smiling widely at them. They, however, were both so startled that Jemima started in her chair and fell over. She wasn't mad or hurt as she picked herself up, but laughed as she set the chair back up.

Ralph was very still in his seat, but his smile had widened perceptively into something so warm, Annabel could scarcely keep herself from hugging them both. She contained herself, not wanting to discomfort them any further, if they were already uncomfortable, that is.

"Well, blow out the candles!" A hearty, male voice said, probably one of the various servants. The twins both looked curiously at the cake with exceeding interest.

"So pretty…" Jemima cooed in an almost child-like manner, staring at the read and blue cake with wistfulness. Ralph seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"On the count of three…blow on the candles!" Annabel explained with enthusiasm, clasping her hands together in a prayer-like fashion.

"One…" The twins perked up, looking at the candles.

"Two…" Everyone said in union.

"Three...!" All of the candles were blown on with a gusto that even Annabel admire, and Ralph and Jemima laughed happily.

Annabel was happy that day, and rightly so, and yet I wonder…would she be so happy if she had known this was destined to be one of the few good times she would have left? If she knew the ending of her own story? Only seven years left to go until the chaos ensued and all that was happy was turned into something dark and twisted, almost disappearing…

Would she be happy?

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Annabel exclaimed offhandedly to the twins as they polished off the rest of their birthday cake. Both looked at her curiously, Jemima with a content smile now and Ralph with his usual smile (and a ring of blue around his mouth from some of Jemima's half of the cake which he conveniently had stolen bites of from Jemima's plate.)

"I got you both gifts." She smiled, bringing out the two packages, one in blue (of course), and another smaller one in red. The paper as plain by any standard, with just a hint of metallic light shining off the surface, otherwise, it was unadorned.

"I love it!" Ralph exclaimed prematurely, enthusiastic as always.

"You haven't even seen it yet, noodle brain." Jemima scowled, glaring at her brother. He just stuck his tongue out at her and smiled fondly.

"A man knows what he likes, and I have a seventh sense about this gift." He said indignity, poking his forehead and talking in syrupy sweet tones to his sister, talking to her as if she were a baby, even making the occasion "goo goo" and "ga ga" noises.

"Idiot." Jemima grumbled, settling down in her chair with folded arms.

"Well, let's have it Annie-Bell." It was Ralph who said this, his smooth voice like wind chimes happily tinkling in the wind.

Annabel handed first Jemima her blue package, which she tore into with enthusiasm, but when she handed the smaller red package to Ralph, he looked as if he had not an inkling what to do.

"Why don't you open it?" Annabel teased with a laugh of her own.

"Yes…that could be good idea." Ralph said sarcastically, smiling with an easy openness. Then, without further ado, Ralph carefully began to open his present, keeping his gaze on the small package, and uncovered the small black velvet jewelry box as Jemima began to squeal about her own present. He gently put his finger on the case and pulled it up cautiously as if it were a lighted dynamite, to reveal the glittering green clover. His smile slipped for a fraction of a second, he looked bombarded.

"It's…" He ran his fingers over the four clovers; love, hope, courage, and friendship. His face was drawn, a smile in place, yet, he was tense. "Mine?" He asked, lowering his eyelashes.

"Yours." Annabel agreed. He sat where he was with that same stiff expression, running his fingers repeatedly over the clovers.

"It's beautiful." He said in a contemplating, almost guarded tone. His eyes were dark and intense.

"Do you…" Annabel began to ask, worrying.

"Like it?" Ralph interrupted with a somewhat bored tone. "More than you know."

Annabel looked up from her spot on the table she had been staring at, surprised at his words. Ralph's face was broken out in a strange, huge grin, yet something was not right about it…it was frightening, that smile. He looked…wild. Jemima seemed oblivious to this, happily chatting with Annabel.

"Thank you! I love it!" Jemima shrieked with almost catchable enthusiasm. Her eyes glowed mysteriously and feet couldn't seem to keep still, as if she were dancing to a beat no one else could hear but herself.

"It is my…pleasure." Annabel said timidly, turning her gaze away from Ralph, who had picked up the necklace to put the jewelry around his neck.

"I'm glad you're happy." She said to Jemima warmly through dry lips, turning toward the direction of the door.

"It must be past all you chilies' bed time." Annabel's nanny said in a scandalized tone, ushering Annabel towards the door. She didn't resist, letting the nanny drag her, she was very tired after such a long day.

"Good night, Annabel." She heard for the second time from Ralph, and felt a sense of déjà vu, remembering that night in the kitchen when she met him. He was watching her from the door, clutching at the necklace as if he couldn't keep his hands off it where it was around his neck. Jemima stood beside him, smiling as if she were having the time of her life. Annabel looked away from the almost painful intensity in which they watched her and grabbed the hand of her nanny, who led her to her safe, warm bed.


	9. Chapter 9

_Five years later…_

At nearly thirteen years of age, Annabel could still remember those misty younger years with the twins. It was the only bright memories she truly had, and the memories were still being made each day. Otherwise, the castle was the picturesque of gloom and dread. People rarely came to the Burroughs manor any longer, and that meant _nobody._

The only ones who moved in and out of the castle any longer were its occupants. The place that previously resided many parties and celebrations was dead, basically.

The "occupants" had changed over the years also, Lord Burroughs himself and his family especially. He had become even moodier as time wore on. Natalya tended to become depressed easily and very often, shots of gray ran through her beautiful hair now.

Strangely enough though, she seemed to look at Annabel with more and more pity and agony as time passed, treating her as if she were some kind of extremely breakable glass…or contaminated, she barely looked her in the eyes anymore.

William disappeared for long lengths of time, and he and Annabel had probably spoken only three words to each other over the course of a month, conversing in one-word answers. The twins were well….the twins. They were the same as they had always been, normal if you could even define them as "normal". They were becoming stranger and stranger as the years passed, not that Annabel was complaining, they lightened her life.

Annabel was able to escape the monotony of the castle some days; with or without Ralph and Jemima (usually with), and when she did leave, she came to the place she was in now. Small, white flowers swayed in the breeze, making her white dress look brighter, her outside matching her inside feelings.

It was a beautiful day, which was becoming very rare nowadays. Usually there were at least storm clouds or a bit of light sprinkling rain. Today, the sky was the bluest she had ever seen and not a cloud was in sight as the sun, bright and welcoming, shown everywhere, touching everything.

Annabel plopped down on a dry patch of grass in a very unladylike manner, not that she cared, and tilted her head up to look at the sky. She closed her eyes as the sunshine kissed her face. It was the most peaceful place she knew, and could hear the faint tinker of birds in the trees in the distance.

"You look relaxed. Having fun?" A pouting Ralph said as he plopped down next to her.  
"Having fun without me? Annie-Bell, you naughty girl."

As usual, Jemima had come with him, but she was chasing a pretty purple butterfly around the field. Ralph was smiling fondly towards his sister, his necklace glittering on his neck, where it always stayed; she fought the impulse to touch it. She was surprised he had been able to keep from losing it, since he constantly moved. All these years and he still had it. Annabel felt a burst of pride, because of his adoration of the gift she had given him. She herself could barely keep up with any jewelry she received, which is why she was usually unadorned.

"Fun? Oh sure." She said sarcastically, Ralph smiled impishly, one side of his lips curling farther than the other.

"My, my, aren't we testy?" He remarked in his superior tone of voice he used when mocking her. She pinched his cheek lightly.

"Hey! Hey! Careful now!" He laughed, shaking his face like a dog covered in water. The motions threw her hand off. At that moment, Jemima came walking over, her hair in two separate buns. She had a blue dress on, looking very pretty.

"Look!" Jemima exclaimed, holding her cupped hands out toward Ralph and Annabel, and then slowly uncapping her hands. The butterfly she had been chasing earlier lay there in her palm, flapping its wings lazily, as if it didn't have a care in the world.

"Isn't it pretty?" She asked, gently stroking the butterfly's unusual purple wings. And she certainly was right, it was beautiful.

"It really is, Jemima." Annabel said gruffly, smiling at Jemima in a friendly and approving way, Jemima flashed her white teeth Annabel's way. Ralph reached up towards the butterfly and ran his fingers over the wing thoughtfully, as delicate as Jemima had been.

"Lovely." He said his eyes on Jemima's butterfly. He was grinning impishly. Uh-oh. Annabel watched to see what he was going to do, and Jemima looked at him suspiciously. "Almost as pretty as my two best ladies!" He shouted, pulling Jemima's feet out from under her.

Jemima squeaked as she fell on her butt, the butterfly flying freely I the air, away from them.

"You jerk!" Jemima cried, prodding him the ribs with her bare foot, she was smiling despite herself, as if her lips couldn't quite stay down. Ralph put his arm over Jemima's own arms, hugging her awkwardly. It was enduringly sweet; one of the reasons Ralph was one of best friends.

"_He scares you though, hum?" _A mocking voice said in the back of her head, she pushed the voice away.

"You didn't actually think you were going to get away that easy, did you Annie-Bell?" Ralph asked playfully as he wrapped his free hand around Annabel, calling her by the silly nickname he had given her when they were younger.

And for that moment, again, she was truly happy. Stupidly happy…

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When Annabel entered the castle, minus Ralph and Jemima, she felt a quite familiar animosity throughout the entire castle. She ran her fingers across the familiar cold stone of the castle walls as she made her way in a direction she hadn't gone to as far back as she could remember; at least not with this intent. Her father's study.

She didn't know the exact reason she went there that day, a feeling perhaps, her feet were moving as if they had a mind of their own, separate from her body. She had a feeling…but what feeling?

Fear and curiosity strummed through her body at the same time, confusing her; why did she feel this sense of foreboding and urgency as she went in the direction of her father's private place? Of course, she knew she wasn't supposed to go there, but what…?

She arrived at the wide, expansive door of the study, interrupting her thoughts. The door seemed…gigantic. She knew it was most likely lock, it was always supposed to be locked.

She twisted the knob, trying to prove this sentiment, and actually lost her balance when the door swung open as if inviting her in. She took the invitation, for whatever reason, stepping into the mysterious room.

Books lined all of the walls, almost as big as the public library in their home, which Annabel had managed to make a comfortable place. But this place could never be considered comfortable, it felt as if there was something in the room with her, watching her every move with all-seeing eyes.

She shivered, moving closer to the book-lined wall to the left. Glancing around the wide expanse of the room, she saw a large desk near the back, a fireplace nearby, and one wall unadorned by books, but which held a variety of masks. And strangely enough, in the middle of the masks was a door slightly agar, cracked open as if someone had carelessly shut it.

Being the curious person she was, Annabel made her way towards the door, trying to keep very close to the wall. Dust skimmed her fingers in dirty streaks as she lightly touched the cover of the book. She was no longer afraid of punishment, because she was so enchanted with this room. This was where her father spent his days…? Where was he?

As she got to the open door, the fire across from her flickered warningly. Fear clutched Annabel's stomach painfully. Not fear of the punishment, but a deeper and older rooted fear; the dark. Shadows danced merrily around the room, and glancing at the window, she saw that the sun was beginning to set on the horizon.

"_Please don't go out."_ She prayed, trying to plead with the fire to stay lit for a bit longer, then, without further ado, she slipped into the secret room.

Unlike the previous room, only one wall was completely covered in books. But one book was laid out on the desk that particularly caught her interest.

"_Book of Entities, Volume 1?"_ She questioned to herself, glancing at the cover of the books on the shelf. Another twenty or so titles similar to it lay there, all of them with the word "entity" clearly written on the cover in flowing gold print. Her father must have eccentric reading tastes. At least that is what she thought as she picked up the book, and flipped to the first page. The tiny black letters seemed to jump on the page at first glance.

"_Strange…"_ She noted, and began to read, squinting her eyes in the dim and getting dimmer light.

"_Entities" have existed in the human realm since Roman days. These beings have been known to possess innocent humans, imbuing them with utter ruthlessness and cruelty and often driving the possessed to vicious acts of murder. In such cases, executing the murderer does not break the circle of evil-the possessed is resurrected to continue its bloodthirsty mission._

Those who are thus controlled by Entities are known as "Subordinates". When a Subordinate kills a human, they take nourishment from the victim's soul, and their power grows. Subordinates may acquire an infinite amount of power in this manner. It follows, then, that Subordinates are sustained by human misery and suffering.

Only certain humans are equipped to fight Entities and their Subordinates: the "Rooders". Rooders, who are always young women in their teens, have been battling against these shadowy enemies for hundreds of years. Their war is likely to continue for many centuries to come."

"Entities." She muttered, looking over the pages with growing interest. Why did her father have this document, and what was all of this about "Rooders"? She didn't have a clue, and put the book back into the exact spot she had found it. She hoped her father would notice, and dismissed even the notion. He had never been a precise man, or even tidy by any standards by the looks of the room, she knew he wouldn't notice, and she reached for a thick volume bound in leather on the shelf that said, "_The Ritual of Engagement."_

It was heavier than "The Book of Entities", and seemed to seethe in her arms as she picked it up, opening it's dust-covered exterior. The first page read as this…

"_If thoust wish to become an entity,_

_Then there is no purer way than this;_

_Stab the chest of a Rooder on the year of her fifteen birthday,_

_And then drink deeply of her blood,_

_Thus, thou shalt have immortality."_

A large looming picture covered the top of the page, a young girl it seemed, strapped on a slab of rock with blood pouring freely down from her chest in scarlet traces. A large, dark looming figure stood over the girl ominously, a knife poised above his head and a maniacal smile on his dark face; it seemed he had killed the girl in his desire to become a so-called "entity" and live forever.

Annabel ran her fingers over the glossy page and then turned it. The rest of the book described the proper conditions, place, and time to perform this gruesome ritual. Annabel snapped the book closed with irritation and fear and set it back in its proper place. What was the meaning of this?

Was this for real? Did her father…believe in this and, if so, what reason did he have this book? She had the answer to none of these questions, and as she slipped through the room to leave before the light went out, she knew she might not want the answer.


	10. Chapter 10

Annabel dreamed, and as she dreamed, she drifted

Annabel dreamed, and as she dreamed, she drifted. Drifted a place where dark men towered over her, she couldn't move exactly, as if she was paralyzed, and it was so dark…and cold. The man raised a bloody knife, a knife with what she realized was her blood on it, and began to stab her again. Just before the knife hit its target, and reached her, she awoke with a start.

Sweat poured down her face, and her breathing was quite labored as she battled a scream that was stuck inside of her dry throat. She whimpered as she saw the almost pitch-black room and tears popped to the front of her eyes. She was crying…over a dream. What was the matter with her? None of these thoughts of her foolishness would, however, halt the flow of tears.

"Are you…hurt?" A voice asked from the darkness. Her door opened and for the first time, Annabel saw Ralph without a smile. Ralph walked in, his eyes widening perceptively as he saw her tears…great. He put the candle he had been carrying on her bedside.

"Annabel, what the…I heard a scream." He said with a confused expression, calling her by her actual name.

"It's nothing, just me being a big, stupid, baby." She sniffled, wiping any trace of tears away from her eyes.

"Stupid, huh?" Ralph asked quietly, coming to sit at the foot of her bed. He looked around curiously at the darkened room and Annabel though it was probably because he had never really been _in _her room. Or maybe he was trying to distract himself.

"Entering a ladies living quarters at night? Ralph, you rascal." She teased, trying to play everything off.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, eh?" He said, smiling slightly.

"How did you hear me scream anyway, isn't your room on the other side of the castle?" She asked, curious, looking at him suspiciously.

"I was in the kitchen." He said propping his hands on his face in that usual infuriating way. "I couldn't sleep."

"Is Jemima asleep?" Annabel asked, afraid Jemima had heard also. Ralph laughed at her question.

"As soon as Jemima's head reaches the pillow, she's out like a light." He said with a snap of his fingers, and then commented, "She even _drools._"

"How rude to comment on a lady's body fluids!" She huffed, hitting him with a small pillow.

"What? Oh, her slobbering? Ah, Jemima's no lady, mind you that." He said shrewdly, grinning. "Just don't tell her _I_ said that." He put a finger over his lips to emphasize his point.

"It would serve you right." Annabel said, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.

"You say that to the man that came in here to save a damsel in distress?" He asked, sounding offended, he was still grinning widely, however.

"I'm no "damsel in distress." Annabel said primly, folding her arms and glaring at Ralph. He didn't seem to be impressed by her scathing glare, looking unperturbed.

"Tell me "oh damsel", whatever was that scream for?" He question, his voice serious and his face playful. Annabel really did want to tell him everything about her dream, but that would get into all those strange books her father had, and she didn't feel like poking into that particular hole, with the memory being so fresh. Instead, she told a half-truth, one she would have died before telling him earlier.

"I don't…like the dark." She admitted, and then corrected herself. "Actually, I completely hate it." She waited for him to make fun of her, instead, he frowned.

"I see." He murmured with surprising amount of understanding in his voice. "Jemima always used to be afraid of the dark when we lived on the battlefield with out uncle." He stopped for a moment, looking into the shadows.

"She would…always have me check for the monsters, under the bed, and never sleep unless I was near." He smiled, seeming to remember something pleasant.

"When we came here, she stopped being afraid at all." He turned to look at her directly in the eyes, "We both stopped being afraid." He didn't look at her after that for a minute or so, as if he regretted admitting that to her, as if it was…a weakness to afraid. That smile, a smile that she had found out to be fake, stayed plastered on his lips.

"Being afraid isn't a bad thing, it can teach us to be wary." She mused, and Ralph seemed to snap out of his trace-like state.

"Yes, yes, of course." He said with his usual enthusiasm and then jumped off the bed gracefully, giving her a wide _real_ grin. And without another word, he left.

But he hadn't left her alone, because, there, sitting on the table beside her, stood the forgotten candle.


	11. Chapter 11

_Two years later…_

One week before Annabel's 15th birthday, everything changed with yet another dream. She was in darkness in this dream, not the familiar darkness that blanketed her room occasionally when she awoke at night. This was an empty, extremely scary kind of darkness, the kind that made her think that maybe there were things she couldn't see in the darkness, watching her. In this darkness, she shivered, although she wasn't cold at all. It was almost muggy, and sweat beaded down her brow.

She sure didn't feel as if she were in her own room anymore.

The darkness was starting to become a weird gray color that, as she focused, became clearer and clearer. It was probably a hallucination or perhaps even a dream, but she definitely wasn't in her room

She tried to stand, she really did, but it felt as if there were a great pressure on her chest and the floor beneath her was rough and gritty, like stone…

And then, suddenly, she was staring at the face of death. It was simply there, in front of her in the strange gray darkness, hanging in front of her. "It" was pale, and had an almost bloodless face, which was almost lost in the folds of his dark robe that seemed to be made of some slinky material. The face certainly was dead.

"_It's come for me,"_ She thought irrationally. "_Death wants me."_ She cringed, trying hard to look away from the beautifully pale face. Annabel saw the mouth of death twist into a parody of a smile. As if there were no difference between life and death…

Annabel tried to speak, moving her lips and feeling her vocal cords rumble as she spoke, but no sound came form her mouth. She felt as if she were deaf, had no sense of sound, it was like a distant muffled noise she knew that she should have heard, but didn't.

And she knew another thing; that she was afraid, she was not fully in _their _world, but the slightest action…wait…."their world"?

What did this mean, "their" world? She hadn't consciously thought of this, nor did she know exactly who "they" were. Apparently her subconscious mind did though. The thing in this voidless place moved, its robe swishing, then, for the first time, it spoke.

"Go back to your world…little girl." It whispered in a dry, male voice, looking at her from under the dark robe. "Our numbers are many, and our patience for little brats not even to their peak yet is little." He sneered, she assumed it was a "he" by the obvious male voice and its looks.

"Your heart will be his, anyway", He said thoughtfully. "Soon enough." And it was then; she was struck with an alarming sense of familiarity.

"My…heart." She said with great effort, pushing against the pressure on her chest. Her voice didn't fail her this time, coming out as if she had been asleep for along amount of time.

"Careful now, if you push against it, you will be stuck here." The man said knowledgably, pressing each of his fingers together. "And I'm sure that they wouldn't wait to kill you as soon as possible…after all, having a juicy little Rooder girl as you kill if quite…" He paused. "Gratifying."

"Rooder!" She exclaimed, the familiarity dawning upon her like a cold splash of water, chilling her to her bones. The comprehensions on her face made his laugh, a cold, brittle, and hard sound.

"You! You were…in my…f-father's book." She said shakily with fear, recalling those two short years ago when she had seen a large picture in "The Ritual of Engagement". Recalling the terrified look on the girls face as she died, and the dark figure looming over, preparing to strike with the bloodied knife yet again…

The phantom seemed to sway, coming closer to the terrified girl and brushing a lock of stray hair behind her ear. He lowered his mother down to her ear, and she could feel his freezing breath on her neck.

"I guess you could say…in a way…I made the book." He whispered airily, and she shivered at his proximity. The air was charged, as if he were going to harm her.

He didn't though, instead, he moved slowly away, his pale face seeming to grin wider than humanly possible. His nostrils flared, as if he smelled her fear on the air, she wouldn't doubt it.

"Go home my little Rooder." He said before he turned his back and began to walk-more like skim-away. "Your soul will be with us soon enough, even if your body cannot." He laughed, disappearing in the grey darkness, like a thick fog, it covered her eyes. Annabel screamed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

She awoke to a dark room. Not the previous darkness, but a more tepid, isolated one. She shivered there, under her covers, and remembered the pale face of her dreams. A cruel face, a cold face, and a dead face. The latter retained on her mind more soundly. Was it a coincidence to begin having these dreams again a mere breathe away from her day of birth?

And what did that shadow-like man of her dreams mean by calling her a Rooder? She had never had any symptoms of being a Rooder; no power or anything. Annabel had the eerie feeling that it really hadn't been a dream…but another world from her own. Never had she had a dream so utterly vivid and so…terrifying.

She still felt the chill all the way down to her bones. Still felt the cold breath of that creepy man touch her neck as if her soul were being drained from her. Or maybe her very essence.

And who would have her heart?! Who were they!?

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The dark figure lingered outside the cold, deathly silent manor, stroking the smooth handle of the sharp knife thoughtfully. Reluctantly, with a last loving look at the dark tower, he turned on his heel and began making his way towards the thick forest of trees.

Soon-very soon-the heart of his beloved young Rooder would be his. Soon, once more, the past would return to haunt the Burroughs' manor. And soon, the rest of eternity would be laid out before him.

When lightening soared across the sky, a crazed smile could be seen plastered over the Lord Burroughs face.

Oh yes, soon, very soon.


	12. Chapter 12

The day that Annabel died was exceptionally good…in terms of weather, that is. But, that day, right before her fifteenth birthday, she felt something strange in the air. Ralph and Jemima were off "playing", as Ralph had obscurely put it before vanishing to god-only-knows-where.

She had offered to company them, but Jemima had simply smiled in a strange way and had seemed to open her and say yes, but was met with a scathing glance from her brother. Annabel had just decided to leave it at that and asked no questions of their definition of "play."

So, they were absent at the moment, and her mother was preoccupied with sewing and her various other crafts, in her room she stayed.

And her father…she tried her very best to avoid him at all possible costs, which was actually a very easy task to complete.

He roamed frequently nowadays, there one minute and completely gone the next. Almost as if he hadn't been there at all…another ghost in the Burroughs' manor.

Over the past week, she continued to have many of her frequent bad dreams. Some were of the cloaked man, although not as quite realistic as the previous one.

Other dreams that included things grabbing her in utter darkness and some…more personally and more terrifying ones she didn't wish to even think of.

The dreams had progressed until they were so utterly unbearable to Annabel that she could scarcely close her eyes during the night when all others, besides herself, was asleep in their warm beds. Each time she even tried to close her eyes, she saw things that were most definitely _not_ really there. She was beginning to believe that she was going completely crazy.

That day, before her birthday, she decided that she needed a change of scenery. So, she requested permission to go to town, a request her mother excepted without even the flicker of one of her beautifully formed eyelashes, leaving Annabel to gather up the coach driver, who was the only one qualified to conduct that carriage that was there at the time

Everyone seemed to leave her to fend for herself nowadays, besides her company of the mischievous (who often wandered into trouble). When the twins did go to "play", she didn't see them for hours on end, she had guessed that they secluded themselves to the downstairs area-where Annabel ironically enough had never been. She wondered what was so interesting down there on frequent occasions.

Annabel tried to pull her mind off of this interesting subject, going off in search of the coach driver, a pleasant man who was usually in the kitchen during the day. When she went into the kitchen, he was in his usual place, leaning against the counter talking in a loud and flirtatious tone to a young maid beside him.

"So how about it…oh, hey Miss Annabel." He said as she walked towards the pair purposefully, his conversation lost.

"Hello." Annabel said rather politely, nodding towards him and the young, blushing maid.

"I require your immediate assistance…um…" She requested, trying to remember the young coach driver's name.

"My name is Roy, Miss Burroughs, and this here is Mille." The young driver of only about twenty-three years old introduced politely.

"Roy it is, then." Annabel corrected herself, smiling pleasantly back at him. "I am not all that well remembering names of the late, please forgive me Roy."

"It is not a problem, Miss, and I would quite love to assist you in any way." The man, Roy, said pleasantly back, bowing at her humbly.

"I think I would quite enjoy some…female company also, why don't you accompany Roy and I on the trip to town, Mille?" Annabel asked to the still-blushing maid, who shook her head so furiously up and down that a pin fell out of her up bound hair.

"OF COURSE!" The maid, Mille, said a little bit too loudly, leaning over in a very unladylike manner to retrieve her fallen pin. Annabel faintly smiled at the maid skittish personality, chuckling lightly.

"I suppose we should get a move on it, hum?" Annabel asked mildly, eyeing them both meaningfully. They both blushed furiously, causing another chuckle from Annabel.

"I…I'll be needing to ready the carriage, it will only be a…a moment." Roy stuttered, running off to ready the carriage and leaving his embarrassed sweetheart with her hands clasped nervously in front of her and her cheeks a flaming cherry red.

Annabel smiled happily at the girl, who looked to be only about four years older than her newly reinstated fifteen years (starting tomorrow), trying to ease her discomfort.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to embarrass you, Mille" She said with a smile, the dimples showing in her cheeks.

"Please excuse our behavior on the job, Miss Burroughs!" The girl said meekly, bowing her head to the much younger Annabel in respect. Annabel laughed.

"Think nothing of it." She said, still laughing lightly, grinning at the maid playfully, who in turn looked absolutely relieved.

"Those twins seemed to have rubbed off on you, if you don't mind me saying, Miss Burroughs." The meek maid Mille said with a saucy and sly grin spreading across her face.

"You mean Ralph and Jemima? Rub off on me, huh? What makes you say something like that?" Annabel asked crankily.

"I remember when you…used to be such a…serious and sad-eyed little girl, mistress. But now…you're just different." Mille explained with a small and surprisingly honest smile.

"Hum." Annabel snorted, thinking of her times with Ralph and Jemima. "Maybe."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

As they were preparing to leave for Annabel's "change of scenery", she couldn't help but feel as if something bad were going to happen.

"_Something…is wrong" Annabel_ thought uncomfortably, her stomach lurching sickeningly as the carriage began to move. _"Very wrong…"_

The maid who across from her chatted excitedly as they went along the road, smiling occasionally when she heard Roy make a remark that she considered funny. Mille was obviously completely smitten with the young coach driver. Annabel believed it to be a very sweet thing, and maybe even a desirable thing to have. Love…that is.

"Whoa…" Mille said uneasily as the cart lurched on the dirt road.

"Why don't you take a nap Miss Burroughs? We are not going to arrive in town for a bit, anyway." Mille suggested thoughtfully towards Annabel.

As soon as the words escaped Mille's mouth, despite her trepidation, Annabel felt a weeks worth of weariness settle deep in her bones, making her feel as if she were made of mush, and also making her feel much older than she truly was.

"Yes…" Annabel said through dry lips, her eyes drooping slightly and then falling shut.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_Swirling gray fog encased the castle in Annabel's dream…she knew it was a dream. A slight state of surrealism swirled in this area just as the fog. And because she was inside t he castle, her home. She stared wistfully at its familiar surroundings._

_And then a strange sound began, a strange and crazy laughter rang through the manor, surrounding her, and was comparable to the sound of tearing paper. But, worst than the laughter was the screams that began. She felt a vague sense of déjà vu, this was familiar…somehow._

_Strangely enough though, it was because unlike the other dreams, in this one she actually knew she was asleep. And she couldn't bring herself to fear the familiar crazed laughter. Not really…_

_Annabel was dressed in the same clothing she had been in while in the carriage, except her feet were bear of any shoes. Her toes weren't cold though, because she didn't really have any sense of feeling. She just noticed the sight of the gray fog and anything in her line of vision. And, of course, that horribly terrifying familiar laughter and ghastly screams._

_She found her vision moving towards the screams instead of away from it…like a siren luring sailors to their deaths. She heard her heart begin to pound inside of her head._

_Coming to a stairway, she saw more than felt herself begin to carefully ease down each individual step, and being painfully aware of her now-unfamiliar surroundings. Was she going down to the basement?_

_The once-dormant fear stirred restlessly at the sight of the darkness. She tried to close her eyes, but found her eyes, but found that she could not._

_Coming into a room that looked like a dungeon of some sort, she went directly to a lever to her right and pulled it without being aware of her actions and walked towards a wall as it mysteriously pulled up. A long amount of space was between her and a wooden door that she could faintly see light coming from, the laughs began to get stronger…and so did the screams._

_As soon as Annabel arrived at the other side of the room, the wall slammed with an uncomfortable swish of air that left her heart thumping madly. She saw her hands begin to shake as she reached for the latch on the door…and opened it._

_The piercing laughter continued, punctuated by a terrified scream every now and then. She stepped through the door, looking in the direction of the scream first, what she saw horrified her. _

_A man was strapped onto a rather large metal chair with spikes attached to it, his face pained as the spikes dug into his back and legs, trails of blood covering the chair and making it look as if it were completely red. Dry blood covered the rest of the torturous chair, old blood, telling her that this had not been the first time. This chair had seen many victims. _

_Annabel covered her mouth to hide her cry of fear and the tortured man looked up at her, his eyes pleading with her to save him._

_In front of the man, a strange-looking woman snapped a pair of large, almost sword-like scissors in his face, clipping at his skin occasionally._

"_Snippety Snap!" She said giggling, looking over at a equally strange man who sat on a large table in the middle of the room with a large axe swinging precariously behind him. The blade of the axe was only an inch or so away from him and he seemed unconcerned, on the blade a strange wheel was placed on each end, when the axe swung, the wheel would twirl. The man laughed also, a harsh sound that hurt her ears, and then she moved._

_Both the man and woman turned to smile up at her, the faces of the twins._

_Ralph and Jemima._

_Annabel screamed._

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Mille jumped up as the young mistress began to scream, her hands flailing helplessly in the air.

"Wake up, Miss!" Mille screamed, and the carriage lurched uncomfortably. The screaming continued.

The carriage turned sharply and all of a sudden, Mille had the sense that she was falling, the mistress's screaming continued until the carriage went completely still and Mille crying as Roy rushed over to see how she was.

Roy had a large gash on the side of his face, open with blood streaming in dirty trails down his cheek. His lips were drawn and tight as he took in her own injuries, which weren't all that severe. She had a busted lip and had lost one fingernail from her right hand while attempting to cling onto the carriage door as it had flipped complexly over. Roy much have fell or jumped from the carriage first, then sliced his cheek on a sharp rock. Mille cried even harder, touching his damaged cheek and completely froze.

"Where…is Miss Burroughs?" She asked with panic, finally realizing that the screaming had completely stopped and no sign of her was visible. Mille got up and began heading towards the overturned carriage.

"Don't go over there." Roy demanded with authority, his voice grave and his hand clinching like a vise over her upper arm. A tear trailed out his right eye and into the open gash on his cheek.

"Why…why not?!" Mille shouted, pulling futilely on the much-stronger mans hand.

"Let me go!" She shouted.

"No. You do not want to go over there." He said between clenched teeth, rubbing his eyes to rid them of tears, hissing as his fingers touched the edge of the gash. "Please, just don't go over there, Mille." His free hand covered his eyes and he began to breathe heavily.

"Roy, I have to see…" She started to say, he interrupted her.

"We have to leave; we have to get out of here. Run away, we have to!" Roy said crazily, clutching onto Mille's arm and trying to pull her with him. "We have to go far away from here. Far away. We have to go, Mille!" He commanded pleadingly as Mille tried to pull her arm away.

"NO. I'm not leaving!" She said, wrenching her arm away from him and making a run for the overturned carriage.

"He'll have us dead, Mille!" Roy shouted, trailing behind her as she clutched the wheel of the carriage, looking inside, and almost wrenched at the sight that greeted her.

Miss Annabel was stuck between the frame of the carriage, as pretty as ever. Her face was pale, so pale that it looked as if she had been smothered in white powder. Her lips were a strange blue color, as was her eyelids, no breath escaped her mouth.

Her dress was hiked up over her legs, which stuck out at strange angles-obviously broken-revealing multiple variations of already blackening, sickly looking bruises and open bloody wounds that made Mille's legs hurt when she looked at the battered limbs. One of her pretty once-white gloves had slipped off of her hand during the fall, leaving one hand exposed. It was burned badly by the gravelly rocks, leaving the hand bare of skin, while the other gloved hand was torn badly in spots and covered completely in the muddy dirt as well as her long brown hair.

But, even in death, a peaceful expression remained on her face, impassive and calm. She looked as if she would wake up if Mille touched her, her eyes would flutter open and she would laugh at how gullible Mille and Roy were. But, deep down, Mille knew. She knew that Miss Annabel Burroughs, of the Burroughs family, daughter to Lord Burroughs who owned all of south-east England…was dead.

And that she and Roy were doomed.


	13. Chapter 13

How long she stood looking down at the dead Annabel, Mille had no idea. She felt Roy standing beside her and heard the wind still blowing, unnoticing of yet another death.

"We have to leave." Roy said in a somewhat calmer tone than his previously crazed one. Mille mutely shook her head no.

"I'm taking Miss Annabel home, it's the least I can do for her, you know…I can't just leave her out here for someone to find or an animal." She explained, almost like talking to herself without a tear or the flicker of an eyelash to Roy.

"That's crazy, Mille!" He shouted, "You know what will happen if we go back!"

"You don't know we'll die!" cried Mille, becoming frustrated. "Help me get her up!"

"We both know what will happen if Lord Burroughs finds out his _precious _daughter died in our care." He said coldly back to her.

"I can't leave…her here, Roy. Just leave, I'll do it myself." She said viciously, shaking his hand off where it rested on her shoulder.

"There's no bringing her back, you know? We can still save our…" He was interrupted.

"Don't you dare say "ourselves", I'm taking this little girl home." Mille said in a tone that was tinged with finality. Roy ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Then I suppose we both die, I can't let you go alone…Mille…" He murmured, hugging Mille.

"Just go, Roy, but don't expect me to do so." She said in a more calm tone, her eyes sadly trained on the dead girl.

"We'll be tortured to death." Roy said as equally calm.

"I know." Mille commented.

"Ralph and Jemima will have some work then, but I think they won't be too happy with how they acquired it…" He said in a crazily amused voice.

"Work?" Mille questioned.

"You didn't know, I suppose." He pointed towards Annabel. "Just as that poor girl didn't." He said sadly.

"Know what?" She wondered out loud, looking away from the girl.

"Besides being Annabel's playmates…Ralph and Jemima are…" He stopped, trying to find what to say.

"What?" Mille pressured.

"The executioners, I suppose you could say. I wouldn't call what they do just execution though…they…" He hesitated, looking away from Mille.

"They what?" She asked, shaking him and wincing as her finger began to bleed again, though she didn't let go.

"They enjoy it." He grimaced.

"Lord Burroughs did get them off the battlefield…after all. I took a man there once, a prisoner of war, Lord Burroughs had me to, I never thought…" His face was drawn.

"We can still leave." He suggested, almost begging her.

"Help me get her." This was Mille's only answer as she struggled to unpin Annabel from the wreckage.

"Mille…"

"Help me get her out and you can leave."

"You know I can not do that." He sighed, helping her get Annabel out. Mille ignored him otherwise.

"Let's go home, then…" Roy said finally, looking off into the bright sun, and they began to walk, the dead girl clutched in their arms.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

William heard distinctly the moment the screaming began in the front of the house.

"Mother…" he whispered, running towards the doorway to see his mother on the ground rocking back and forth, like someone crazed.

"Mother…what…?" he asked, running to the front door. The stage coach, Roy and a young maid stood there at the doorway with grave lines of their lips. The man had a large, swollen cut on his cheek and the woman looked as if she were going to faint at any moment. And in their arms was his sister.

Battered and bruised, her eyes were closed on her pale face and no breath came from her nose or mouth.

Dead.

For a moment, William could only stare at his sister, then he closed his eyes, blocking out his vision of her broken body. He turned to a servant near bye, speaking quietly.

"Get my mother out of here and go get my father. Say nothing to him except that it is urgent and concerns Annabel, it will be enough." He turned his gaze to the coach driver and maid.

"Give me my sister." He said gently, but with authority that no one would question. He certainly was the son of Lord Burroughs.

"Y…yes." The man said, basically shoving Annabel into William's arms, who shivered as her quickly cooling body touched his. It was almost impossible to believe Annabel was dead, but the proof was sitting right in his arms. He felt guilt remorse flood through him in one great wave and fought the urge to cry, and won. Men, especially eighteen year old men never cried for any reason whatsoever. Never.

So he sat in the parlor with Annabel's dead weight in his arms and waited for father, a placid and sad expression on his face.

"I'm very sorry…" he whispered to the girl in his arms, moving the bundle of hair from her face.

"Forgive me for being such a…jackass." He pleaded, reaching up to coddle his sister. He again was fighting the urge to cry when Lord Burroughs walked in the room, an aggravated expression on his face at being interrupted in his studies. Lord Burroughs eyes flickered to Annabel.

"What in the bloody hell?!" He shouted, and with a growl comparable to an animal, violently retched her from William's grasp.

"Annabel, wake up sweetling." He said, putting his hand on her face and pulling back at its chilled surface. He pulled her up onto a chair, had her face him, and her head lulled back on her shoulders.

"Wake up Annabel…!" He said loudly, lightly shaking her shoulders.

"WAKE UP, DAMN YOU!" Lord Burroughs cried, shaking her shoulders with all his power.

"Stop father!" William gasped as he spied Natalya in the doorway, stifling her crying with a fisted hand. She had never looked worst, and had apparently escaped from her room where William had instructed the servant to put her. Lord Burroughs turned on William.

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, you little whelp." He said scathingly, William flinched at the harshness of his father's voice.

"Is she…dead…?" Natalya asked in a strangely tired voice.

"Of course not, she's just sleeping." The Lord Burroughs said in a sweet tone, looking at his dead daughter. "Yes, yes, just sleeping…" William left the room.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Mille and Roy stood in the doorway of the parlor, watching the scene unfold and Mrs. Burroughs began crying harder beside them. The boy, William, looked disgustedly at his father as he fell apart and began striding towards the door, grabbing his nearly-screaming mother on the way out.

They both watched it all; everything going to hell, the shit hitting the fan. Lord Burroughs stayed in the living room, falling apart piece by piece, trying to avoid reality; the fact that his daughter had died. The Lord turned to Roy.

"How did this happen?!" He spat out, laying his daughter down on a couch and turning to look at both of them with cold eyes and a harsh and cruel smile.

"The carriage tipped…" Mille said, earning a glare from Roy.

"I was driving the carriage, sir. Mille just saw the carriage tip over; she was heading home from the market and stopped kindly to assist me in taking Miss Burroughs home." Roy lied easily, lowering his eyes.

"Really? Hum…you know, for some reason…" Lord Burroughs said coolly, "I find that hard to believe, really." He walked over to Roy.

"Are you lying to me?" Lord Burroughs asked with a deadly voice, his hands curling into fists.

"Of…of course not." Roy said, his eyes darting to Mille and then away.

"Oh, but I know that you are." Lord Burroughs said in a silky voice, suddenly grabbing Mille. "Trying to protect this girl, hum? Thought I was stupid, perhaps?" He smiled, and Mille flinched as his hand closed painfully on her neck.

"Marias!" Lord Burroughs said loudly, calling to his personal assistant. Marias appeared in moments, his snooty nose in the air and a smile on his cynical lips.

"Yes, my lord?" The assistant asked, his eyes flickering over Roy and Mille.

"Go get Ralph and Jemima, some…trash needs to be taken out." Lord Burroughs said, raising his thumb to the servant, signaling death to Roy and Mille as an emperor might in the coliseum games during the Roman days. The assistant smiled happily, bowing in a courtly manner.

"Yes, sir!" He said excitedly and disappeared out the door.

"I would usually do this myself…but…I think my pets would enjoy this more…" The Lord said with lines etching his face.

"I wasn't lying, she had nothing to do with it, just take me!" Roy shouted, his actions saying the exact opposite. He looked as if he were looking for a way out of the closed room, with Lord Burroughs in the doorway, holding Mille's neck. Roy grabbed the only thing in the room valuable to Lord Burroughs…Annabel.

"Hurt that girl and you'll find yourself burying your precious daughter with a limb missing." He said in a sing-song voice, grabbing a sword hanging from the wall and putting it to the dead girl's throat, threatening to chop off her head if necessary, Lord Burroughs laughed at this, staring at Roy with unblinking eyes.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" The laughter that bubbled from his mouth was near hysterical, crazy laughter…

"Roy, why don't you just leave?" Mille asked miserably, hearing a wringing in her head.

"I…I can't do that…" Roy said, holding the sword more tightly against Annabel's throat, causing a thick trickle of chilled blood to escape her skin.

Lord Burroughs smile vanished almost instantaneously as he saw the blood, a sense of immense dislike that covered the room in an almost tangible sense.

"You don't want to do that." He said with clenched teeth, tightening his hold on Mille's hair, making her moan in pain.

"_Ohhh…_you _really_ don't want to do that." He said menacingly. Roy dropped the sword, stunned.

Mille looked with sad eyes at Roy as they heard footsteps in the hall and the sound of Burroughs's assistant speaking in hushed tones to two other people as he scuttled down the hall.

"What is this about anyway, possum?" Roy heard Jemima ask rudely, their nickname for Marias being used. It was true…he did look like a possum. Roy felt sweat begin to bead on his brow. They would surely kill him with pleasure; his eyes flickered unconsciously to the dead girl on the sofa. Her mouth almost made it look as if she were smiling peacefully in sleep…

And then…

Ralph and Jemima walked into the room.


	14. Chapter 14

"Why is it so dark?" She asked herself, looking at the grayness in front of her.

"Did it get me?" She asked again. No answer.

"Where am I?" She asked a final time. Nothing.

In the distance she could faintly see a minuscule, almost nonexistent figure of light and reached towards it with the very tips of her fingers, struggling to wrap her digits around it. When her fingers touched it, she was surprised. It had looked so much farther away, how had she reached it?

**Cold.**

**Hard.**

**Unbendable.**

She opened her fingers to look at the object in her right hands. It shone bright as she unwrapped her fingers from around the cold, hard, unbendable object and her eyes widened as she realized what it was.

"_The clover?" _She thought. "_What is it doing here?"_

Then the light shined even brighter yet, a green light that engulfed and blinded her to anything and everything except the burning heat that crawled up her arm and made her very soul quake with the very intensity of it. The hand throbbed, making a hissing sound as the clover seemed to burn its way into the tender skin of her palm.

Crying out, she tried to release the metal, only succeeding in opening her fingers and the metal still hanging onto her palm. Seared into her skin. The chain dropped down with an ominous click.

But what scared her most were the voices…those whispering echoes that issued to the back of her foggy mind.

_-"__**Come with me…"**_

_**-"Fetch another doctor…!"**_

_**-"…that poor girl…"**_

_**-"…two best girls!"**_

_**-"WAKE UP!"**_

She recognized some of the phases instantly, but put her hands over her ears to ward of the whispers. It didn't help at all, she could still hear them.

"A…h…hhh…" She moaned as quietly as possible, clutching at fistfuls of her long brown hair to quiet the insistent voices.

"Miss Burroughs…how nice to see you it is." She heard a sing-song voice snicker out. A very _familiar_ voice.

"You…" She whispered, looking with wide, angry eyes towards the sound of the despised voice, towards the towering dark cloaked figure that seemed to appear from the grayness.

"Is this _your_ fault?" She accused her voice cold and her eyes hard. The figure replied by lifting one of his unnaturally long fingers and shaking it while clicking his tongue.

"Not me…Miss Burroughs, I didn't even really see this coming!" The figure said with false surprise, coming closer to her and running a finger across her cheek to which she replied by jerking back and sneering at him. His face was under that same dark hood though, so she couldn't see him very well.

"I would have loved…to just see that look on his face when he heard…" The figure said longingly, seeming to think that thought was euphoric…who he meant she had no idea.

"Heard…?" She inquired, taking the most important part from what he said and began shaking lightly from head to toe.

"Heard of your unfortunate and untimely death, my dear Miss Burroughs." The figure said, grabbing up her chin again. She stood as still as a statue this time however, stunned.

"I'm dead." She stated, not a question. She felt numb.

"Quite!" The figure said, sounding strangely and curiously happy.

"Are you death…shouldn't you know these things? How could you not know I was going to die?" She asked.

The figure lifted up its hood, showing that face she remembered from her nightmares so vividly. He dreams of that two wide smile and hollow-looking face. A monsters face that strangely managed to look beautiful at the same time. He seemed to look flattered at her question, grinning wider yet.

"Well, I'm not really death if you want to get technical…but close enough, I suppose." He mused, snickering lightly. This caused her to frown.

"Why am I here…aren't I supposed to go to heaven or something? I mean…I don't really think I did anything bad enough to warrant eternal damnation in hell…or whatever this is." Annabel worried; she looked around, her eyes taking in the complete darkness. The funny thing was it was so dark…and yet she could still see him clearly.

"You think quite highly for yourself, _princess? _Do you really deserve to go to heaven?" The figure leered, and she could feel its cool breath on her cheek.

"What did you…just call me?!" She snapped, swinging her eyes angrily towards the annoying figure.

"Where are Ralph…and Jemima?" She asked uneasily. The figure took on a bored look.

"Still alive…" He said with a wave of his hand as if she were dull. "And to answer your earlier question, you're in the world of Entities." He grumbled.

"Are there other…_people _around here?" She asked, anxious.

"People..? Not exactly. Here? Obviously not." He said with a stretch of his fingers, grinning as he caught sight of something over her shoulder.

"But maybe if you go in there, there might be! Who knows?" He said mischievously, pointing a finger to the object behind her. She turned slowly around to see a window she definitely hadn't seen before.

Had it just appeared out of nowhere?

Why was she even questioning this? It wasn't that much of a dreadful surprise…

"Why am I here?" She asked the most important question, turning to the figures direction and expecting some vague answer. He was gone. Nothing but the sameness of the perforating darkness remained.

She looked back unsteadily at the gray window, suddenly uneasy by the turn of events. Through the smoky screen of the glass she could see…trees?

"Outside?" She asked herself out loud.

"Outside!" She repeated again, exclaiming this with relief and stumbled towards the window clumsily.

She braced her hands on the glass of she came within a foot of the window, lowered her forehead on the cool surface and closed her eyes for a moment, catching her breath

Nearly imperceptible vibrations tightened and rumbled underneath her bare fingers as she struggled to lift the window.

What was happening out there?

Annabel clutched at the panel on the bottom of the mysterious gray window and pulled up with all of her strength, feeling a sense of satisfaction when she heard the window crack open with a loud screech. When the window was open, she hesitated, wondering if it was actually safe to go in this window. Not that she had much of any choice, there didn't seem to be anywhere else to go in this abyss.

Unlike the crystal clear image of the forest she had seen while looking out the glass, blankness was there in the open window. Annabel made her choice quickly.

Closing her eyes, she took a chance and plunged into the dark depths.

__________________________________________________

_HAHA! You didn't see that coming did you? Thought we were completely finished with the dearly departed Annabel? Nope, not quite yet my dear readers. ^.^_

_The next chapter will continue on with what is happening in the real world, back and forth. Right now Annabel is in kind of a purgatory state though, coincidentally in the world of entities. _

_So, why did Annabel end up here?_

_What is the Scissortwins hiding?_

_How will Ralph and Jemima react to Annabel's death?_

_And why does she have the clover?_

_**ALL WILL BE REAVEALED SOON**__._

_P.S. Sorry this is such a short chapter…and remember._

_THE REVIEW BUTTON IS JUST BELOW. Just put the arrow on the button that says review and click ^_^_


	15. Author's Note to Readers

Alright…So this isn't an actual chapter.

*avoids rotten tomatoes thrown by crowd*

But, I just wanted to inform all the readers of this story that I will be working on the next chapter of it soon, and hopefully poste it soon.

So don't give up on it~!

Love,

Hilarious-Mayhem


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